


break this silence open wide

by baylishmaylie



Category: Speak - Laurie Halse Anderson
Genre: Gen, set when melinda's a junior, she's mr. freeman's ta, wrote this for a school assignment and thought i'd post it here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baylishmaylie/pseuds/baylishmaylie
Summary: I walk into Mr. Freeman’s classroom at precisely 10:03 in the morning on August 20, 2001. Mr. Freeman turns around from his canvas – seemingly a bird in a cage this time – approximately three seconds after the door shuts behind me.Mr. Freeman: “Melinda? Do you have the assignment I told you to plan?”Me: “Uh, yeah, do you want me to get it out?”Mr. Freeman: “No, just wait until the students get here. You can give them your instructions then.”I wasn’t informed I would have to give the instructions myself. You’d think that would be something useful to know before the first day of school.~or~Melinda is a TA for Mr. Freeman this year. She had to come up with an assignment over the summer and introduce it to the class on the first day back. Will she be able to Speak?





	break this silence open wide

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my language arts class and thought I'd post it here. It's practically unedited, so have fun tearing it to shreds!
> 
> Also, the title is from The Silence by Bastille.

I walk into Mr. Freeman’s classroom at precisely 10:03 in the morning on August 20, 2001. Mr. Freeman turns around from his canvas – seemingly a bird in a cage this time – approximately three seconds after the door shuts behind me.

Mr. Freeman: “Melinda! Come on in!”

I cringe. I had an open elective space since I decided to drop Spanish after the two years I needed to graduate (good riddance). Band was out of the question. Too much time and energy to put into something I couldn’t care less about. Choir – I can hardly sing by myself, much less with a group of people. I’d be the only junior in the dance fundamentals class, not that I wanted to be anyway, so TAing for Mr. Freeman was the only option. As much as I love Mr. Freeman, I would have preferred to take his class (for the third time), but Mom wouldn’t have that.

Mom: “Graduation blah blah credits variety blah college job career blah blah why don’t you care you should care more about your future Melinda are you listening to a word I’m saying-“

Mr. Freeman interrupts mental-Mom as I sit down at my desk – really just a table with a bunch of papers on it – and I startle.

Mr. Freeman: “Melinda? Do you have the assignment I told you to plan?”

Me: “Uh, yeah, do you want me to get it out?”

Mr. Freeman: “No, just wait until the students get here. You can give them your instructions then.”

Me:

I wasn’t informed I would have to give the instructions myself. You’d think that would be something useful to know before the first day of school. These freshmen have no idea who I am yet, and I’d really like a group of people – even if it’s just 25 or so of them – not to think I’m weird and isolated. I mean, I am, but they don’t need to know that.

Mr. Freeman gives his usual first day of school spiel about how art is more important than anything else you’ll learn in school (although Mr. Neck would say otherwise) (I actually think he quit? The school’s better off).

It’s 10:10. I begin to daydream about graduation.

Mr. Freeman: “Blah blah your TA, Melinda Sordino, will explain your assignment this year.”

Me:

Me:

Me: “Oh, right, um, let me, um.”

The freshmen laugh. I clear my throat.

Me: “Um, hi.”

Students:

Me: “My name is Melinda Sordino, and I’ll, um, be your TA this year. Mostly that means I’ll grade your assignments that you’ll periodically turn in, um, to this tray – um – but Mr. Freeman doesn’t really care about those so apart from your semester final they’ll all be completion grades.”

A collective sigh of relief.

Me: “I don’t really know why, but Mr. Freeman put me in charge of, um, your year-long assignment.”

A groan. I laugh. The freshmen look shocked.

Me: “So as an introduction to what you’ll be doing for us this year, I, um, wanted to tell you a little about my freshman year, two years ago.”

Some students lose focus. Oh well.

Me: “Coming in to Merryweather, I didn’t really have friends, and it was hard for me to talk to anyone. Um, I guess it still kind of is. There’s a reason for it, but I, um, don’t need you guys knowing it. It’s personal.” IT flashes through my mind. _Not now, Melinda._

Bored, disinterested looks from everyone except one freckled boy in the back. I like him immediately. I dub him Freckles.

I regain my composure – or the little I had in the first place.

Me: “This class – and Mr. Freeman – really helped me find my voice again. So this year, I want to give you an opportunity to express yourself. Through – uh – art.”

A student on the left: “Obviously.” I roll my eyes.

Me: “I, uh, want you to think of something about yourself or something that’s, um, happened to you that you’ve never told anyone and find a way to express that – but not completely obvious because that would be too easy. It doesn’t have to be something bad. Just something you’ve never said before. Because that’s what helped me to find my voice – my real one – and to actually speak up about what happened.”

Students:

Me: “So, uh, yeah.”

Mr. Freeman resumes class. It’s 10:12. I just want to sleep.

A few minutes later – or, from the looks of the clock, 40 minutes later, I am startled awake by the bell. 10:55. I get all my things together. I hope no one saw me sleeping. Whatever. They’ll probably forget about it tomorrow.

Freckles approaches me. He should be getting to class. I don’t know why he’s not more worried about getting to his fifth hour on time. Freckles: “Hi Melinda, um, I’m really looking forward to this class this year and I really like the assignment I think it’s really cool I’m excited to work with you you seem nice.” He says this whole thing while staring at the ground. I can’t believe he put so much effort into that one run-on sentence.

Me: “Um, thanks. You too-?”

He sticks out his hand and makes eye contact for a split second.

For that second, I feel like I’m staring at myself.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are worth a million hugs :)


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